The New Casebook of Sherlock Holmes
by 2wingo
Summary: More than a year has passed, and Sherlock and Jane remain firm friends. But a new set of mysteries await them, with new enemies, new friends, and new places. Uberfic
1. Prologue

_**(A/N: Yeah, I know that **__**The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes**__** is supposed to come before **__**The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes**__**, but since **__**Memoirs**__** contains "The Final Problem," I figured I'd get this out of the way first. Please Read & Review.)**_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any related characters. However, as he is in the public domain, A.C. Doyle's descendants don't really own him either. I do, however, own the genderbent version of Dr. Watson, Jane Watson. I also do not own Arsène Lupin. He is a creation of Maurice Leblanc and is also in the public domain. I also will not claim ownership of any original characters that will crop up as most of them are very heavily based on existing characters in other mediums. Anything totally and uniquely mine will be noted as such for your convenience.

* * *

**Protagonists**

1.) **Sherlock Holmes:** A 17-year-old British-American. Holmes is a consulting detective, a profession which makes extensive use of his genius-level intelligence and supremely analytical mind. He possesses a vast knowledge of a variety of subjects, both practical and theoretical, common and esoteric. Holmes is also highly athletic, and possesses a great deal of training in a variety of martial arts, particularly Muay Thai, Kenpo, Goju-ryu, and the balisong butterfly knife. He suffers from Cyclothymia, a mild form of bipolar disorder, causing him to alternate between the hyperactivity of a case and the lethargy of mental inactivity, and between a "proper English gentleman" and a distinctly Bohemian lifestyle. Likeness of Julian McMahon (circa 2000), voice dubbed by whoever it was that voiced Holmes in the PC game Sherlock Holmes vs. Jack the Ripper (which you can see on YouTube if you don't wanna play it yourself).

2.) **Jane Watson:** The beautiful girl next door, Jeanette "Jane" Watson is an aspiring medical student, and Holmes' partner in his detecting business. She also serves as the chronicler of his cases, and sometimes publishes them in the school newspaper. Easy-going, quiet, and bubbly, Jane is a ferocious fighter when roused to anger, and is skilled in karate, tae kwon do, and Brazilian jujitsu. Jane is the first and so far only female member of the Baker Street Irregulars. Likeness of Kristin Kreuk (circa 2002).

3.) **Mycroft Holmes:** Mycroft is Holmes' older brother by seven years. Possessing deductive powers exceeding even those of his younger brother, Mycroft is nonetheless incapable of performing detective work similar to that of Sherlock since he is unwilling to put in the physical effort necessary to bring cases to their conclusions. Mycroft is a wealth management and investment consultant, and also provides legal counsel to his clients on intellectual property development. He is one of the founding members of the Diogenes Club, a gentlemen's club for misanthropes. Likeness of Stephen Fry (circa 2006).

4.) **The Baker Street Irregulars:** A ragtag bunch of misfits from all around Seattle, the Irregulars are an unofficial police force organized by Holmes to be his eyes and ears throughout the city. Each Irregular is trained in martial arts and parkour, but each also has his own unique abilities. Members include:

Sam Wiggins: An Irish-African, Wiggins is Holmes lieutenant, often relaying orders from him to the other Irregulars. He is an expert _traceur_ (practitioner of parkour) and fighter, and is something of a class clown among the Irregulars. He is also the only Irregular to refer to Watson as "Jeanie" rather than Jane. Likeness of T. J. Storm (circa 2008).

Henry Thornton: An Arkansas redneck, Hank is the finest marksman in the Irregulars, with 0.3-second quickdraw. He prides himself on almost never missing his shot, even when shooting "gangster-style." Likeness of Mark Collie (circa 2004).

Eddie Lau: A Cantonese martial artist, Eddie possesses a black-belt (at least) in a variety of martial arts, and is often called upon to assist with the training of the other Irregulars. Likeness of Rain (circa 2009).

Xavier Delgado: A Mexican immigrant who grew up in the sprawling naval yards of San Diego, Xavier is a former Merchant Marine and the oldest of the Irregulars. During Vietnam, he served with distinction in the Mekong Delta, proving himself a sailor through and through. He currently works in Seattle's port district as a longshoreman, and keeps track of Moriarty's smuggling operations. Likeness of Danny Trejo (circa 1999).

Nicky Lee: Born in New York but raised in Tacoma, Nick is an expert at outdoor survival and in infiltrating narrow areas due to his small build, flexible frame, and fearlessness when it comes to dark, cramped confines. He is somewhat agoraphobic, and rarely leaves the Seattle Underground where he makes his home. Likeness of Eli Roth (circa 2009).

5.) **Giles Lestrade:** The owner of the Lestrade Fight Den, a gym that teaches mixed martial arts, Lestrade is kept on payroll by Holmes for the purpose of training his Irregulars and keeping an ear to the street. A former karate champion, Lestrade never hesitates to enter the fray at Holmes' command. Likeness of Ray Park (circa 2007).

* * *

**Antagonists**

1.) **Professor Moriarty:** James Moriarty is a Chechen mobster and a criminal genius. Five years older than Holmes, he possesses an unparalleled aptitude for mathematics of all sorts, which has added him greatly in building a criminal empire that extends across Washington. Almost every criminal in Seattle works for his crime ring, directly or indirectly, whether they know it or not. He is also a highly skilled martial artist, making him a shadowy reflection of Sherlock Holmes in every respect. Likeness of Milo Ventimiglia (circa 2007).

2.) **Irene Adler:** Holmes' former girlfriend and Moriarty's lover, Irene is highly talented at disguise and infiltration. A ravishingly beautiful and charming girl, Irene is very cold, and cares little for other people beyond how they can benefit her. Moriarty had used her to get close to Holmes, seemingly only to prove that his reach could extend even to those Holmes held dear. Likeness of Bianca Beauchamp (circa 2000).

3.) **Sebastian Moran:** A former Royal Marine in the British Navy, Moran spent time honing his combat skills in the Special Air Service before his discharge, after which he served as a military advisor in some of the bloodiest conflicts in Africa, the Middle East, and third-world Asia. Moran is proficient with explosive, sniper rifles, blunt and edged arms, and just about anything that can be used as a weapon. An expert tactician, he is frequently able to improvise effectively when the larger strategic plans prove ineffective. He is perhaps the only man on Earth that Moriarty trusts without reservation. Likeness of Ray Stevenson (circa 2008).

4.) **The Red Triangle Gang:** Moriarty's elite operatives, this dangerous group of psychotic killers consists of members from around the world, each with a deadly gimmick and a _nom de guerre_ to match. They are identified by a small tattoo, a triangle within a circle, hidden on their bodies. Members are:

Cane: An Englishman who wields canes that secretly house swords or guns. Likeness of Vinnie Jones (circa 2010).

Stiletto: A Brazilian with uncanny knife-fighting skills. Likeness of Eduardo Yáñez (circa 2004).

Combat: A specialist in unarmed warfare from Waco, Texas. Likeness of Michael Madsen (circa 2004).

Silence: A ninja from the island of Singapore. He never speaks, due to a malformation of his vocal cords. Likeness of Lee Byung-hun (circa 2009).

Tequila: a _femme fatale_ from Vera Cruz, Tequila kills her victims with deadly poisons. Likeness of Martha Higareda (circa 2010).

Garotte: A Frenchman from Marseilles who strangles his victims with a wire hidden in his wristwatch. Likeness of Jean-Claude Van Damme (circa 2004).

Roc: An immensely strong, giant of a man from Madrid, Spain who is unable to feel pain. Likeness of Robert Maillet (circa 2009).

* * *

**Other Characters**

1.) **Siger Holmes:** Holmes' father, Siger is the former territorial governor of Hong Kong, now living in quiet retirement in America. Likeness of Charles Shaughnessy (circa 2005).

2.) **Violet Holmes:** Mother to Sherlock and wife to Siger, Violet is a former professional tennis player, and is something of a socialite. She is very fond of Jane, citing the good influence her friendship has had upon Sherlock. Violet is descended from the French painter Claude Joseph Vernet. Likeness of Natasha Richardson (circa 1998).

3.) **Sherrinford Holmes:** The third and eldest of the Holmes children, Sherrinford is Mycroft's senior by 3 years. Like his brothers, Sherrinford was a child prodigy, and began a career in anthropology and archeology at a young age. Having spent so much time in remote parts of the world, he is not frequently mentioned by the rest of his family in casual conversation (though they never deny that he exists). Likeness of Paul Freeman (circa 1981).

4.) **John & Sarah Watson:** Jane's parents are upwardly-mobile professionals who have nonetheless made every effort to be a part of their daughter's life. While they somewhat disapprove of Jane being a private detective, they generally do not object as long as her grades remain unaffected. Likenesses of Bryan Cranston (circa 2003) and Fran Drescher (circa 2005), respectively.

5.) **Marty Morstan:** Jane's boyfriend of 1 year, Marty is the quarterback on and captain of the George E. Challenger High football team. Though he and Jane have dated monogamously throughout their relationship, a recent rift has occurred between the two, and it remains to be seen what direction they will take. Likeness of Matt Czuchry (circa 2006).

6.) **Arsène Lupin:** A self-styled "gentleman thief," this young Frenchman has earned a notorious reputation across mainland Europe and committed many famous burglaries. While generally on the wrong side of the law, Lupin will not hesitate to take up arms against those who are worse than he is, and never forgets a wrong done to him. Likeness of Johnny Depp (circa 1995).

* * *

_**(A/N: If anybody out there knows who voiced Holmes in the PC game, don't hesitate to tell me. Seriously, it's been driving me crazy. Please Review.)**_

TO BE CONTINUED.


	2. When Head and Heart Collide

_**(A/N: Yeah, I know, it's long overdue, but school's been a bitch. Anyway, this chapter will pick up where TNAOSH left off, and the story will go from there.**_ _**Any questions, comments, ideas you'd like to pitch, will all be appreciated.**__**Please Read & Review.)**_

* * *

The big day had finally come. Jane was packed and ready for her and Marty to retreat to Crystal Mountain, and was now sitting on the front porch with her bags, watching the sun rise.

The next house over, Holmes was doing the same, eating a light breakfast.

"Ah, Watson," he said cheerily, "Come, join me. I have veal collops and fresh fruit compote." Jane just frowned at him and turned her head away.

"Oh come now, Watson," said Holmes, "You cannot remain angry at me forever."

"Oh can't I?" she shot back scathingly, "After some of the things you said to me last night, you're lucky I'm even talking to you."

"Very well," replied Holmes evenly, "I shan't ask you to do anything that is against your inclination." He turned back to his breakfast and said nothing more.

It was then that Marty pulled up. Holmes watched in silence as Jane kissed him, put her bags in his car, and turned back to the house to say goodbye to her parents. He concentrated more carefully to get the gist of their dialogue.

"Now, I don't want any hanky-panky," said Jane's mother.

"'Hanky-panky?'" said Marty, jokingly.

"You know what I mean," said Mrs. Watson.

"If we were living in the 1930's I might know," said Marty, grinning rakishly.

"Nice lip," she said, "Look, I want you kids to behave while you're gone."

"And no hanky-panky," said Jane, rolling her eyes.

"Are we allowed to have hanky without the panky?" asked Marty.

"Or just panky?"

"I think the panky gets us into the trouble area, Jane."

"If I can't have the panky, what's the point of the hanky?"

"Well, what about shenanigans?"

"Good point, Marty. Are we allowed to be up to shenanigans, Mom?"

"Ha-ha," said Mrs. Watson, "Don't quit your day jobs." She kissed Jane once on the forehead and watched as they drove off.

A few hours later, they arrived at the resort. Marty had already made reservations at a small hotel, and Jane was impressed by how comfortable it was for such a small place.

"Wow," said Jane, bouncing slightly on the bed's mattress, "I think this is one of those Tempur-Pedic things."

"All the better news for us," said Marty slyly.

"Down, boy," said Jane, "let's go hit the slopes first. The fresh powder is calling my name."

"Is that why you were so quiet the whole trip?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Jane, "that's why."

Marty went into another room so they could change into their respective gear. While Jane suited up, she wondered why she'd lied to Marty. She'd been distracted by the things Sherlock had said the other night, not by the prospect of good skiing conditions. No, that wasn't quite accurate. Holmes' harsh words had simply added to the confusion she was already feeling.

"Jane?" called Marty from the hallway, "Let's go! The chairlift awaits!"

"I'm coming!" said Jane, hurrying after him. Maybe an afternoon of skiing would clear her head.

* * *

Later that night, Jane and Marty returned to the ski lodge thoroughly exhausted.

"That is the last time I ever do aerial freestyle," said Marty, sinking down into a couch by the fireplace.

"I told you not to use a snowboard," said Jane, "they're not like skis; they don't automatically detach during a bad fall."

"You're just jealous that I got more air than you," said Marty.

"And you're so cute when you pout," said Jane, pressing her lips to his. All conversation was put on hold as they made out for several minutes.

"Well," said Marty with an exaggerated yawn a short time later, "I think I'm almost ready for bed."

"It's only six o'clock," said Jane.

"Who said anything about going to sleep?" whispered Marty, blowing slightly in her ear.

"You go on ahead," said Jane, "I'm going to try out that karaoke machine in the lounge."

"Whatever floats your boat, baby," said Marty, kissing her cheek, "I'll see you later."

* * *

Back in Seattle, it was dark out, and at Lestrade's gym, the Irregulars had gathered for a no-holds-barred, bare-knuckled brawl. The Dubliners' _Whiskey in the Jar_ blared over the speakers as Holmes and Wiggins fought in the octagon.

_Head cocked to the left,_ thought Holmes as he analyzed Wiggins' condition, _Partial deafness in ear. First point of attack. Two: throat; paralyze vocal chords, stop breath. Three: floating rib to the liver. Four: finally, drag in left leg, fist to patella. Summary prognosis: unconscious in ninety seconds, partial efficacy quarter of an hour at best._

"What's the matter, Holmes?" said Wiggins, "Lost yer taste for the fight, boyo?" He then threw a reverse roundhouse kick to Holmes' head.

Holmes ducked and sprang into action, slamming his fist into Wiggins' ear and following with attacks to the throat, stomach, and kneecap, dropping the Irishman like a stone.

"Good match, Holmes," said Xavier, handing him a bottle of water as he walked by. Holmes grabbed it from his hand, but said nothing as he left the Fight Den.

* * *

Jane was pleased with herself. She'd won the karaoke contest with her tear-jerking rendition of ABBA's _Chiquitita_, beating a former Russian _prima donna_, a Ghanaian oboist, and a Swede from Malmö. Still caught up in her victory, she wasn't watching where she was going and ran into someone.

"I'm so sorry," said Jane, "I didn't see . . ." she trailed off when she looked up at him. The man was enormous, almost seven feet tall, and probably on the heavy side of 23 stone.

"_Buonas noches_," said the man, deep-voiced with a Castilian accent. He continued on his way without giving her a second glance.

Jane shrugged and headed back to her room. When she opened the door, the room was dark, save for a number of burning, scented candles that gave the area around the bed a romantic glow. Marty was lying under the sheets, his hands behind his head, and his clothes conspicuously piled at the foot of the bed. Rose petals were scattered about the floor.

"Marty," said Jane softly, "what's this?"

"Shh," he said, rising from the bed to place a finger to her lips, "We've been playing cat and mouse for long enough, Jane. Let's just stop talking and do what we came here to do."

"Marty," said Jane, her breathing becoming more and more ragged as his kisses went lower and lower, "Marty, wait, we seriously need to - Omigod."

Marty had gotten down to his knees and undid her belt. She could feel his hot breath against her erogenous zone as he gently began to pull her panties down with his teeth.

"Marty, stop," said Jane, stepping back and pulling up her jeans.

"What's wrong?" he said.

"Well first, please put some pants on. It's hard to talk when you're naked."

Marty frowned, but pulled on his underwear.

Jane took a deep breath and said, "Okay, Marty, you better sit down, because you're REALLY not going to love what I'm about to say."

She sat next to him on the edge of the bed.

"Marty, you are the first boy I've ever loved. We have a good relationship, one that I would REALLY like to take to the next level."

"Then why – " Marty started to interject, but it was Jane's turn to quiet him with a fingertip.

"But," she said, continuing, "I'm not sure if THIS is the level we should be taking it to, yet. I mean, sex carries a lot of emotional baggage, and neither of us needs those kinds of problems right now. I'm getting ready for medical school. You're working on a football scholarship. And what if, God forbid, I get pregnant? Neither of us is ready to take care of a baby."

"I have condoms," said Marty, rather weakly.

"Condoms can break," said Jane, "and you're missing the point. What if there are other things in our relationship that we haven't done yet, things that we need to do before we have sex? I don't want to be one of those people who just does what she wants, never minding the consequences."

"You sound a lot like Holmes when you put it like that," said Marty.

"Yeah," said Jane with a smile, "I guess I do."

"Fine," said Marty, pulling on a T-shirt and digging through his duffel bag.

"What are you doing?" asked Jane.

"I have a date," said Marty, withdrawing a magazine, "with a lady named Rosie Palms." He then headed for the bathroom and shut the door.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at 221B Baker Street, Holmes sat quietly in his attic, plucking at his viola as he stared deeply into the light of a candle. He heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, but he did not turn around to greet his brother, Mycroft.

"Sherlock," said the elder Holmes quietly, "what are you doing here?"

Holmes simply shifted his position, revealing to Mycroft a glass jar filled with flies.

"If I play a chromatic scale," said Holmes softly, "there is no discernable difference. However, when I switch to atonal clusters, they fly in synchronized, counterclockwise, concentric circles, as if a regimented flock. It's extraordinary, Mycroft. I, using musical theory, have created order . . . out of chaos."

Mycroft walked over to the jar, lifted it to let the flies out, and said, "You have neglected to take your medicine, Sherlock. I think you might be benefitted by a night's rest."

Sherlock looked at his brother with cold, passionless eyes, and finally nodded his concordance. He rose slowly and allowed Mycroft to lead him to his room.

Once Holmes had laid down and covered himself with a blanket. Mycroft sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, neither speaking a word.

"You know," said Mycroft finally, rising to leave, "She will forgive you, in time."

Sherlock did not respond, so Mycroft turned off the light and left.

* * *

_**(A/N: Yeah yeah, I'm a procrastinator, I know. Please Review.)**_

TO BE CONTINUED.


	3. The Adventure of the Mazarin Stone

_**(A/N: As you may or may not know, the original "Mazarin Stone" was one of only two Sherlock Holmes stories written in the 3**__**rd**__** person (the other being "His Last Bow"), so don't be surprised if it reads a little differently than some of my other altered chapters. Also, this chapter will introduce a new OC created by my friend Alex, who will share the likeness of actress Gage Golightly. Please Read & Review.)**_

* * *

_It was pleasant for Jane Watson to find herself once more in the untidy room of the first floor in Baker Street which had been the starting-point of so many remarkable adventures. She looked around at the scientific charts upon the wall, the acid-charred bench of chemicals, the viola-case leaning in the corner, the coal-scuttle, which contained of old homework and correspondence. Finally, her eyes came round to the fresh and smiling face of Billy, the youngest of Holmes' Baker Street Irregulars, who had helped a little to fill up the gap of loneliness and isolation which surrounded the saturnine figure of the great detective._

"_It doesn't seem like anything here changes, Billy. You don't change, either. I hope the same can be said of him?"_

_Billy glanced with some solicitude at the closed door leading to Holmes' sitting room._

"_I think Holmes fell asleep reading," he said._

_It was seven in the evening of a mild winter day, but Jane was sufficiently familiar with the irregularity of her good friend's hours to feel no surprise at the idea._

_"That means a case, I suppose?"_

_"Yep, he's very hard at it just now. I'm a little worried about his health. He gets paler and thinner, and he eats nothing. 'When will you be pleased to dine, Sherlock?' his housekeeper asked. 'Seven-thirty, the day after tomorrow,' said he. You know his way when he's really into a case."_

_"Yes, Billy, I know."_

_"He's following someone. Yesterday he was out as a workman looking for a job. Today he was an old woman. I almost didn't recognize him, and I ought to know his ways by now." Billy pointed with a grin to a very baggy umbrella which leaned against the sofa. "That's part of the old woman's outfit," he said._

"_But what is it all about, Billy?"_

_Billy sank his voice, as one who discusses great secrets of State. "I don't mind telling you, Jane, but you can't tell anyone else. It's this case of that diamond that got stolen from the Museum of Natural History in New York."_

"_What – the four-million-dollar burglary?"_

"_Yeah. It was going to be returned to the ashram it originally came from in India, so they're desperate to get it back to avoid a breakdown in relations with the Indian government. Holmes got calls from the Secretary of State and the VICE-PRESIDENT. Holmes promised he would do all he could. Then there was Governor Cantlemere – "_

"_Ah!"_

"_You know what that means. I mean, he's a bit of a jerk. I can get along with the VP, and I've got nothing against SOS, who seemed a civil, obliging sort of man, but that New Yorker really got under my skin. Holmes didn't care for him, either. You see, he doesn't believe in Holmes and he was against employing him. He'd rather he failed."_

"_And Holmes knows it?"_

"_Holmes always knows whatever there is to know."_

"_Well, we'll hope he won't fail and that Governor Cantlemere will eat his words. But Billy, what's that curtain for across the window?"_

"_Holmes had it put up there three days ago. We've got something funny behind it."_

_Billy advanced and drew away the drapery which screened the alcove of the window._

_Jane could not restrain a cry of amazement. There was a facsimile of her friend, dressing gown and all, the face turned three-quarters toward the window and downward, as though reading an invisible book, while the body was sunk deep in an armchair. Billy detached the head and held it in the air._

"_We put it at different angles, to make it seem more lifelike. I wouldn't even think about touching it if the blind wasn't down. But when it's up you can see this from across the way."_

"_Holmes mentioned something about making a wax replica, once."_

_Billy drew the window curtains apart and looked out into the street. "We're being watched from over yonder. I can see a guy now at the window. Have a look for yourself."_

_Watson had taken a step forward when the sitting room door opened, and the long, thin form of Holmes emerged, his face pale and drawn, but his step and bearing as active as ever. With a single spring he was at the window, and had drawn the blind once more._

"_That will do, Billy," said he, "You were in danger of your life then, my boy, and I cannot do without you just yet. Well, Watson, it is good to see you once again. You return from Crystal Mountain at a critical moment."_

"_So I gather."_

"_You can go, Billy. That boy is a problem, Watson. How far am I justified in allowing him to be in danger?"_

"_Danger of what, Holmes?"_

"_Of sudden death. I'm expecting something this evening."_

"_Expecting what?"_

"_To be murdered, Watson."_

"_No, no, you're joking, Holmes!"_

"_Even my limited sense of humor could evolve a better joke than that. But we may be comfortable in the meantime, may we not? Is caffeine permitted? Let me see you once more in the customary armchair. You have not, I hope, learned to despise my green tea? It has to take the place of food these days."_

"_But why not eat?"_

"_Because the faculties become refined when you starve them. Why, surely, as an aspiring doctor, my dear Watson, you must admit that what your digestion gains in the way of blood supply is so much lost to the brain. I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere appendix. Therefore, it is the brain I must consider."_

"_But this danger, Holmes?"_

"_Ah. Yes, in case it should come off, it would perhaps be as well that you should burden your memory with the name and address of the murderer. You can give it to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, with my love and a parting blessing. Sylvius is the name – Senator Negretto Sylvius. Write it down, woman, write it down! 136 Moorside Gardens, Long Island, New York City. Got it?"_

_Watson's face was twitching with anxiety. She knew only too well the immense risks taken by Holmes and was well aware that what he said was more likely to be understatement than exaggeration. But Jane was never one to shy away from action, and she rose to the occasion._

"_Count me in, Holmes. I have nothing to do for a day or two."_

"_Your morals don't improve, Watson. You have added fibbing to your other vices. You bear every sign of the busy woman, with friends, family, and other such obligations."_

"_Nothing this important. But can't you have this Senator arrested?"_

"_Yes, Watson, I can. That is what worries him so."_

"_But why don't you?"_

"_Because I do not know where the diamond is."_

"_Ah! Billy told me – the missing Indian jewel!"_

"_Yes, the great yellow Mazarin stone. I've cast my net and I have my fish. But I have not got the stone. What is the use of taking them? We can make the world a better place by laying them by the heels. But that is not what I am out for. It's the stone I want."_

"_And is Senator Sylvius one of your fish?"_

"_Yes, and he is a shark. He bites. The other is Sam Merton, the boxer. Not a bad fellow, Sam, but the Senator has used him. Sam's not a shark. He is a great big silly bullheaded gudgeon. But he is flopping about in my net all the same."_

"_Where is Senator Sylvius?"_

"_I've been at his very elbow all the morning. You've seen me as an old lady, Watson. I was never more convincing. He actually picked up my parasol for me once. 'Here you are, Ma'am' said he – half Italian, you know, and with the Southern graces of manner when in the mood, but a devil incarnate in the other mood. Life is full of whimsical happenings, Watson."_

"_It might've ruined everything."_

"_Well, perhaps it might. I followed him to old Straubenzee's workshop on Harbor Island. Straubenzee built him a air gun in the shape of a cane – a very pretty bit of work, as I understand, and I rather fancy it is in the opposite window at the present moment. Have you seen the dummy? Of course, Billy showed it to you. Well, it may get a bullet through its beautiful head at any moment. Ah, Billy, what is it?"_

_The boy had reappeared in the room with a card in his hand. Holmes glanced at it with raised eyebrows and an amused smile._

"_The man himself. I had hardly expected this. Grasp the nettle, Watson! A man of nerve. Possibly you have heard of his reputation as a shooter of big game. It would indeed be a triumphant ending to his excellent sporting record if he added me to his bag. This is a proof that he feels my toe very close behind his heel."_

"_Call the police."_

"_I probably shall. But not just yet. Would you glance carefully out of the window, Watson, and see if anyone is hanging about in the street?"_

_Watson looked warily 'round the edge of the curtain._

"_Yes, there's a rough guy near the door."_

"_That will be Sam Merton – the faithful but rather fatuous Sam. Where is this gentleman, Billy?"_

"_At the front door."_

"_Show him in when I ring the silent alarm."_

"_Yes ,sir."_

"_If I am not in the room, show him in all the same."_

"_Yes, sir."_

_Watson waited until the door was closed, and then she turned earnestly to her companion._

"_Holmes, this is insane. This man is desperate and will stop at nothing. He may have come to murder you."_

"_I should not be surprised."_

"_I'm staying here with you."_

"_You would be horribly in the way."_

"_In his way?"_

"_No, my dear friend – in my way."_

"_You know I can't just leave you."_

"_Yes, you can, Watson. And you will, for you have never failed to play the game. I am sure you will play it to the end. This man has come for his own purpose, but he may stay for mine."_

_Holmes took out his notebook and scribbled a few lines. "Return to your home and wait ten minutes. Call the number at the top of the paper and ask for Special Agent Youghal. Tell him everything written upon this sheet. The fellow's arrest will follow."_

"_Okay."_

"_Before you return I may have just time enough to find out where the stone is." He touched the hidden button to summon Billy. "I think we will go out through the study. This second exit is exceedingly useful. I rather want to see my shark without his seeing me, and I have, as you will remember, my own way of doing it."_

_It was, therefore, an empty room into which Billy, a minute later, ushered Senator Sylvius. The famous game-shot, sportsman, and man-about-town was a big, swarthy fellow, with a formidable dark moustache shading a cruel, thin-lipped mouth, and surmounted by a long, curved nose like the beak of an eagle. He was well dressed, but his brilliant necktie, shining pin, and glittering rings were flamboyant in their effect. As the door closed behind him he looked around him with fierce, startled eyes, like one who suspects a trap at every turn. Then he gave a violent start as he saw the impassive head and the collar of the dressing-gown which projected above the armchair in the window. At first his expression was one of pure amazement. Then the light of a horrible hope gleamed in his dark, murderous eyes. He took one more glance 'round to see that there were no witnesses, and then, on tiptoe, his thick cane half raised, he approached the silent figure. He was crouching for his final spring and blow when a cool, sardonic voice greeted him from the open sitting room door:_

"_Don't break it, Senator! Don't break it!"_

_The assassin staggered back, amazement in his convulsed face. For an instant he half raised his loaded cane once more, as if he would turn his violence from the effigy to the original; but there was something in that steady gray eye and mocking smile which caused his hand to sink to his side._

"_It's a pretty little thing," said Holmes, advancing toward the image, "A French sculptor made it. He is as good at waxworks as your friend Straubenzee is at air guns."_

"_Air guns, sir! What do you mean?"_

"_Put your hat and stick on the side-table. Thank you! Pray take a seat. Would you care to put your revolver out also? Oh, very good, if you prefer to sit upon it. Your visit is really most opportune, for I wanted badly to have a few minutes' chat with you."_

_The senator scowled, with heavy, threatening eyebrows._

"_I, too, wished to have some words with you, Holmes. That is why I am here. I won't deny that I intended to assault you just now."_

_Holmes swung his leg on the edge of the table._

"_I rather gathered that you had some idea of the sort in your head," said he, "But why these personal attentions?"_

"_Because you have gone out of your way to annoy me. Because you have put your spies upon my track."_

"_My spies! I assure you no!"_

"_Nonsense! I have had them followed. Two can play at that game, Holmes."_

"_It is a small point, Senator Sylvius, but perhaps you would kindly give me my prefix when you address me. You can understand that, though I am quite a few years your junior, with my routine of work I should find myself on familiar terms with half the rogues' gallery in Seattle, and you will agree that exceptions are invidious."_

"_Well, _Mr._ Holmes, then."_

"_Excellent! But I assure you that you are mistaken about my alleged agents."_

_Sylvius laughed contemptuously._

"_Other people can observe as well as you. Yesterday there was an old man. Today it was an elderly woman. They were following me all day."_

"_Really, sir, you compliment me. Haymi Dowson of Oregon said the night before he was given lethal injection that in my case what the law had gained the stage had lost. And now you give my little impersonations your kindly praise?"_

_It was __**you**__?"_

_Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "You can see in the corner the parasol which you so politely handed to me before you began to suspect."_

"_If I had known, you might never – " _

"_Have seen this humble home again. I was well aware of it. We all have neglected opportunities to deplore. As it happens, you did not know, so here we are!"_

_The Senator's knotted brows gathered more heavily over his menacing eyes. "What you say only makes the matter worse. It was not your agents but your playacting, busybody self! You admit that you have dogged me. Why?"_

"_Come now, Senator. You once shot lions in Algeria."_

"_Well?"_

"_But why?"_

"_Why? The sport – the excitement – the danger!"_

"_And, no doubt, to free the country from a designated pest?"_

"_Exactly!"_

"_My reasons in a nutshell!"_

_The Senator sprang to his feet, and his hand involuntarily moved back to his pocket._

"_Sit down, sir, sit down! There was another, more practical, reason. I want that yellow diamond!"_

_Sylvius lay back in his chair with an evil smile._

"_Upon my word!" said he._

"_You knew that I was after you for that. The real reason why you are here tonight is to find out how much I know about the matter and how far my removal is absolutely essential. Well, I should say that, from your point of view, it is absolutely essential, for I know all about it, save only one thing, which you are about to tell me."_

"_Oh, indeed! And pray, what is this missing fact?"_

"_Where the Indian diamond now is."_

_The Senator looked sharply at his companion. "Oh, you want to know that, do you? How the devil should I be able to tell you where it is?"_

"_You can, and you will."_

"_Really?"_

"_You can't bluff me, Senator Sylvius." Holmes's eyes, as he gazed at him, contracted and lightened until they were like two menacing points of steel. "You are absolute plate glass. I see to the very back of your mind."_

"_Then, of course, you see where the diamond is!"_

_Holmes clapped his hands with amusement, and then pointed a derisive finger. "Then you __**do**__ know. You have admitted it!"_

"_I admit nothing."_

"_Now, Senator, if you will be reasonable we can do business. If not, you will get hurt."_

_Count Sylvius threw up his eyes to the ceiling. "And you talk about a bluff!" said he, "You threaten a United States Senator!"_

_Holmes looked at him thoughtfully like a master chess player who meditates his crowning move. Then he threw open the table drawer and drew out a squat notebook._

"_Do you know what I keep in this book?"_

"_No, sir, I do not!"_

"_You!"_

"_Me?"_

"_Yes, sir, you! You are all here – every action of your vile and dangerous life."_

"_Damn you, Holmes!" cried the Senator with blazing eyes, "There are limits to my patience!"_

"_It's all here, Senator. The real facts as to the death of old Mrs. Lucinda Harold, who left you a considerable trust fund at age 19, which you so rapidly gambled away."_

"_You are dreaming!"_

"_And the complete life history of Miss Minnie Warrender."_

"_You will make nothing of that!"_

"_Plenty more here, Senator. Here is the robbery in the train deluxe to the French Riviera on February 13, 1982. Here is the forged check in the same year on the Credit Lyonnais."_

"_No, you're wrong there."_

"_Then I am right on the others! Now, Senator, you are a card player. When the other fellow has all the trumps, it saves time to throw down your hand."_

"_What has all this talk to do with the jewel of which you spoke?"_

"_Gently, Senator Sylvius. Restrain that eager mind! Let me get to the points in my own humdrum fashion. I have all this against you; but, above all, I have a clear case against both you and your fighting bully in the case of the diamond."_

"_Indeed?"_

"_I have the cabman who took you to the Museum and the cabman who brought you away. I have the security guard who saw you near the case. I have Ikey Sanders, the jeweler who refused to cut it up for you. Ikey has peached, and the game is up."_

_The veins stood out on the Senator's forehead. His dark, hairy hands were clenched in a convulsion of restrained emotion. He tried to speak, but the words would not shape themselves._

"_That is the hand I play from," said Holmes, "I put it all upon the table. But one card is missing. It's the king of diamonds. I don't know where the stone is."_

"_You will never know."_

"_No? Now, be reasonable, Senator. Consider the situation. You are going to be locked up for at least twenty years. So is Sam Merton. What good are you going to get out of your diamond? None in the world. But if you hand it over – well, I'll compound a felony. We don't want you or Sam. We want the stone. Give that up, and so far as I am concerned you can go free so long as you behave yourself in the future. If you make another slip well, it will be the last. But this time my commission is to get the stone, not you."_

"_And if I refuse?"_

"_Why, then – alas! – it must be you and not the stone."_

_Billy had appeared in answer to a ring._

"_I think, Senator, that it would be as well to have your friend Sam at this conference. After all, his interests should be represented. Billy, you will see a large and ugly gentleman outside the front door. Ask him to come up."_

"_If he won't come, sir?"_

"_No violence, Billy. Don't be rough with him. If you tell him that Senator Sylvius wants him he will certainly come."_

"_What are you going to do now?" asked the Senator as Billy disappeared._

"_My friend Watson was with me just now. I told her that I had a shark and a gudgeon in my net; now I am drawing the net and up they come together."_

_The Senator had risen from his chair, and his hand was behind his back. Holmes held something half protruding from the pocket of his bathrobe._

"_You won't die in your bed, Holmes."_

"_I have often had the same idea. Does it matter very much? After all, Senator, your own exit is more likely to be perpendicular than horizontal. But these anticipations of the future are morbid. Why not give ourselves up to the unrestrained enjoyment of the present?"_

_A sudden wild-beast light sprang up in the dark, menacing eyes of the master criminal. Holmes' figure seemed to grow taller as he grew tense and ready._

"_It is no use your fingering your revolver, my friend," he said in a quiet voice, "You know perfectly well that you dare not use it, even if I gave you time to draw it. Nasty, noisy things, revolvers. Better stick to air guns. Ah! I think I hear the fairy footstep of your estimable partner. Good day, Mr. Merton. Rather dull in the street, is it not?"_

_The prizefighter, a heavily built, middle-aged man with a stupid, obstinate face, stood awkwardly at the door, looking about him with a puzzled expression. Holmes's debonair manner was a new experience, and though he vaguely felt that it was hostile, he did not know how to counter it. He turned to his more astute comrade for help._

"_What's the game now, Senator? What's this guy want? What's up?" His voice was deep and raucous._

_The Senator shrugged his shoulders, and it was Holmes who answered._

"_If I may put it in a nutshell, Mr. Merton, I should say it was all up."_

_The boxer still addressed his remarks to his associate._

"_Is this dude trying to be funny, or what? I'm not in the funny mood myself."_

"_No, I expect not," said Holmes. "I think I can promise you that you will feel even less humorous as the evening advances. Now, look here, Senator Sylvius. I'm a busy man and I can't waste time. I'm going into that room. Pray make yourselves quite at home in my absence. You can explain to your friend how the matter lies without the restraint of my presence. I shall try over the Hoffman 'Barcarolle' upon my viola. In five minutes I shall return for your final answer. You quite grasp the alternative, do you not? Shall we take you, or shall we have the stone?"_

_Holmes withdrew, picking up his viola from the corner as he passed. A few moments later the long-drawn, wailing notes of that most haunting of tunes came faintly through the closed door of the bedroom._

"_What is it, then?" asked Merton anxiously as his companion turned to him, "Does he know about the diamond?"_

"_He knows a damned sight too much about it. I'm not sure that he _doesn't_ know all about it."_

"_Good Lord!" The boxer's sallow face turned a shade whiter._

"_Ikey Sanders has ratted on us."_

"_He has, has he? I'll do him down a good one for that if I swing for it!"_

"_That won't help us much. We've got to make up our minds what to do."_

"_Wait a minute," said the boxer, looking suspiciously at the bedroom door. "He's a leary guy that wants watching. I suppose he's not listening?"_

"_How can he be listening with that music going? Besides, I have a device that will block any eavesdropping machines he could be using."_

"_That's right. Maybe somebody's behind a curtain. Too many curtains in this room." As he looked 'round he suddenly saw for the first time the effigy in the window, and stood staring and pointing, too amazed for words._

"_It's only a dummy," said the Senator._

"_A fake, huh? Well, strike me! Looks just like him. But the curtains, Senator!"_

"_Oh, forget the curtains! We are wasting our time, and there is none too much. He can lag us over this stone."_

"_The hell he can!"_

"_But he'll let us go if we tell him where it is."_

"_What! Give it up? Give up four million?"_

"_It's one or the other."_

_Merton scratched his short-cropped head._

"_He's alone in there. Let's do him in. If his light were out we'd have no problem."_

_The Senator shook his head._

"_He is armed and ready. If we shot him we could hardly get away in a place like this. Besides, it's likely enough that the police know whatever evidence he has got. What was that?!"_

_There was a vague sound which seemed to come from the window. Both men sprang 'round, but all was quiet. Save for the one strange figure seated in the chair, the room was certainly empty._

"_Something in the street," said Merton, "Now look here, Senator, you've got the brains. You can think a way out of it. If slugging is no use then it's up to you."_

"_I've fooled better men than he," the Senator answered, "The stone is here in my secret pocket. I take no chances leaving it about. It can be out of the U.S. tonight and cut into four pieces in Amsterdam before Sunday. He doesn't know about Van Seddar."_

"_I thought Van Seddar was going next week."_

"_He was. But now he has to go on the next flight out. One or other of us needs to go and tell him."_

"_But the false bottom ain't ready."_

"_Well, he'll have to take it as it is and chance it. There's not a moment to lose." Again, with the sense of danger which becomes an instinct with the sportsman, he paused and looked hard at the window. Yes, it was surely from the street that the faint sound had come._

"_As to Holmes," he continued, "we can fool him easily enough. You see, the damned fool won't arrest us if he can get the stone. Well, we'll promise him the stone. We'll put him on the wrong track, and before he finds out that it's the wrong track it will be in Holland and us out of the country."_

"_That sounds good to me!" cried Sam Merton with a grin._

"_You go on and tell the Dutchman to get a move on. I'll see this sucker and fill him up with a bogus confession. I'll tell him that the stone is in Montana. Damn that whining music; it gets on my nerves! By the time he finds it isn't in Montana it'll be gone and so will we. Come back here, out of a line with that keyhole. Here is the stone."_

_"I can't believe you're actually carrying it."_

"_Where would it be safer? If we could take it out of the Museum of Natural History, someone else could surely take it out of my house."_

"_Let me have a look at it."_

_Senator Sylvius cast a somewhat unflattering glance at his associate and disregarded the unwashed hand which was extended toward him._

"_What – d'ye think I'm gonna steal it? I'm getting really tired of your ways."_

"_I meant no offence, Sam. We can't afford to argue. Come over to the window if you want to see the beauty properly. Now hold it to the light! Here!"_

"_Thank you!"_

_With a single spring, Holmes had leaped from the dummy's chair and had grasped the precious jewel. He held it now in one hand, while his other pointed a revolver at the Senator's head. The two villains staggered back in utter amazement. Before they had recovered, Holmes had pressed the silent alarm._

"_No violence, gentlemen – no violence, I beg of you! Consider the furniture! It must be very clear to you that your position is an impossible one. The FBI is waiting below."_

_The Senator's bewilderment overmastered his rage and fear._

"_But how – ?" he gasped._

"_Your surprise is very natural. You are not aware that a second door from my sitting room leads behind that curtain. I fancied that you must have heard me when I displaced the figure, but luck was on my side. It gave me a chance of listening to your conversation which would have been painfully constrained had you been aware of my presence."_

_The Senator gave a gesture of resignation._

"_We give you best, Holmes. I believe you are the devil himself."_

"_Not far from him, at any rate," Holmes answered with a polite smile._

_Sam Merton's slow intellect had only gradually appreciated the situation. Now, as the sound of heavy steps came from the stairs outside, he broke silence at last._

"_But what about that fiddle? I still hear it."_

"_Tut, tut!" Holmes answered, "You are perfectly right. Let it play! The CD player is a remarkable invention."_

_There was an inrush of police, the handcuffs clicked and the criminals were led to the waiting car. Watson lingered with Holmes, congratulating him upon this fresh leaf added to his laurels. Once more their conversation was interrupted by the imperturbable Billy._

"_It's Governor Cantlemere."_

"_Show him up, Billy. This, Watson, is the eminent peer who represents the highest interests," said Holmes, "He is an excellent and loyal person, but rather of the old regime. Shall we make him unbend? Dare we venture upon a slight liberty? He knows, we may conjecture, nothing of what has occurred."_

_The door opened to admit a thin, austere figure with a hatchet face and drooping mid-Victorian whiskers of a glossy blackness which hardly corresponded with the rounded shoulders and feeble gait. Holmes advanced affably, and shook an unresponsive hand._

"_How do you do, Governor Cantlemere? It is chilly for the time of year, but rather warm indoors. May I take your overcoat?"_

"_No, thank you; I'll leave it on."_

_Holmes laid his hand insistently upon the sleeve._

"_Pray allow me! My friend Watson would assure you that these changes of temperature are most insidious."_

_The governor shook himself free with some impatience._

"_I am quite comfortable, sir. I have no need to stay. I have simply looked in to know how your self-appointed task was progressing."_

"_It is difficult – very difficult."_

"_I feared that you would find it so."_

_There was a distinct sneer in the old man's words and manner._

"_Every man finds his limitations, Mr. Holmes, but at least it cures us of the weakness of self-satisfaction."_

"_Yes, sir, I have been much perplexed."_

"_No doubt."_

"_Especially upon one point. Possibly you could help me upon it?"_

"_You apply for my advice rather late in the day. I thought that you had your own all-sufficient methods. Still, I am ready to help you."_

"_You see, Governor Cantlemere, we can no doubt frame a case against the actual thieves."_

"_When you have caught them."_

"_Exactly. But the question is – how shall we proceed against the receiver?"_

"_Isn't that premature?"_

"_It is as well to have our plans ready. Now, what would you regard as final evidence against the receiver?"_

"_The actual possession of the stone."_

"_You would arrest him upon that?"_

"_Most undoubtedly."_

_Holmes seldom laughed, but he got as near it as his old friend Watson could remember._

"_In that case, my dear sir, I shall be under the painful necessity of advising your arrest."_

_Governor Cantlemere was very angry. Some of the ancient fires flickered up into his sallow cheeks._

"_You take a great liberty, Mr. Holmes. In fifty years of political life I cannot recall such a case. I am a busy man, sir, engaged upon important affairs, and I have no time or taste for foolish jokes. I may tell you frankly, sir, that I have never been a believer in your powers, and that I have always been of the opinion that the matter was far safer in the hands of the regular police force. Your conduct confirms all my conclusions. I have the honor, sir, to wish you good-evening."_

_Holmes had swiftly changed his position and was between the peer and the door._

"_One moment, sir," said he, "To actually go off with the Mazarin stone would be a more serious offence than to be found in temporary possession of it."_

"_Sir, this is intolerable! Let me pass."_

"_Put your hand in the right-hand pocket of your overcoat."_

"_What do you mean, sir?"_

"_Come – come, do what I ask."_

_An instant later the amazed governor was standing, blinking and stammering, with the great yellow stone on his shaking palm._

"_What? How is this possible, Mr. Holmes?"_

"_Too bad, Governor Cantlemere, too bad!" cried Holmes, "My friend here will tell you that I am not in the habit of practical joking. However, she will also tell you that I cannot easily resist a dramatic situation. I took the liberty – the very great liberty, I admit – of putting the stone into your pocket at the beginning of our interview."_

_Cantlemere stared from the stone to the smiling face before him._

"_Sir, I am bewildered. But – yes – it is indeed the Mazarin stone. We are deeply in your debt, Mr. Holmes. Your sense of humor may, as you admit, be somewhat odd, and its exhibition remarkably untimely, but at least I withdraw any reflection I have made upon your amazing professional powers. But how – "_

"_The case is but half finished; the details can wait. No doubt, Governor Cantlemere, your pleasure in telling of this successful result in the exalted circle to which you return will be some small atonement for my practical joke. Billy, you will show his Governorship out, and tell Mrs. Hudson that I should be glad if she would send up dinner for two as soon as possible."_

* * *

"Well," said Jane, "What do you think?"

Jane had gotten up the courage to submit one of her accounts of Holmes' cases to the school newspaper, the Strand, and had finally chosen one to serve as a gauge to the readers' reactions.

"You actually expect me to believe this really happened?" The newspaper's editor, Evangeline Mortman, had a reputation for being mean, unfair, and unscrupulous. She and Jane had gotten along like oil and water since the day they met, and Jane had to fight hard to get a position on the Strand.

"Yes, Evangeline," said Jane, "I had to change names, dates, place names, and a few other minor details because this story never even hit the real papers."

"That aside," said Evangeline, "according to this account, you weren't even present for most of the action. Why should anyone believe that this really happened?"

"Holmes told me everything, and I embellished a little to make it more exciting," said Jane.

Evangeline just snorted and said, "Okay, Watson, you've caught me in a good mood. I'll print your trash in the next edition. But if this paper doesn't sell out completely, you're OFF our fiction column and back to your **real** assignments."

"What assignments?" asked Jane, "the first 2 weeks I was here I got you coffee, and the one after that I wrote my opinions on the school lunches."

"Our readers want an unbiased frame of reference," said Evangeline with a catty smile.

"Whatever," said Jane, "I have a job to go to."

"Of course," said Evangeline in a falsely sweet voice, "I'm sure your clients _desperately_ need you."

_I'm really getting tired of those hooker comments,_ thought Jane venomously, but she held her tongue and left gracefully.

The next day, Jane went back into the newsroom, her stomach twittering with butterflies. Evangeline was sitting at her desk, her lips curved into a vicious scowl. That was a good sign.

"Well?" asked Jane, going up to her desk and leaning over, "How did the morning edition sell?"

Evangeline pointedly slammed her pen down and fixed Jane with a glare. "It sold out," she said, "Apparently the idiots in this damn school are more interested in your little stories than they are in serious journalism. Have your next one ready for the presses by Friday, or you're off the paper for good."

Jane murmured a platitudinous thanks and casually walked out. As soon as she was past the door, she jumped up and started dancing around.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," she chanted.

"Congratulations," said Marty, coming down the hall.

"You don't even know what I'm celebrating," said Jane, continuing unabated.

"I don't really give a crap," said Marty, "Just keep dancing."

Jane stopped and gave him a pointed look.

"Okay, okay," said Marty, "what's the good news?"

"I got around Evangeline and had my story published."

"Honey, that's great," said Marty, "Now dance!"

"C'mon, you perv," said Jane, taking Marty by the arm, "Let's go somewhere and celebrate."

* * *

_**(A/N: I'm not sure about this one, so don't be afraid to really critique. Please Review.)**_

TO BE CONTINUED.


	4. Detectives of the Caribbean part 1

_**(A/N: Good God, the last week of school was Hell. 4 essays, a ton of math work, an archeology report, and all of it done in a mere 6 days! Thank God school is out and I can relax a little. I got the idea for this one after reading some old Punisher comics. Also, I think that the ending to the last chapter was a little iffy, so I went back and changed it. Feel free to look it over and see how it compares. Please Read & Review.)**_

* * *

**The Florida Keys**

_There was a time,_ Jane Watson would later write in her diary, _when the Keys were a pretty rough place. In the old days, there were buccaneers and slavers, Prohibition smugglers and cigarette boat hustlers. These days, it's mostly gentrified resorts and rubber alligator tourist dumps. But you can still find some trouble, if you look hard enough._

And trouble she had found; Jane, along with her partner, Sherlock Holmes, had been investigating a high roller running guns into the Caribbean Basin. They'd been picked up from ex-Soviet republics looking to cash in on their arsenals, and the trail had led them to a small bar in the Keys. Unfortunately, the locals hadn't taken kindly to them and now Jane and Sherlock found themselves embroiled in a massive bar fight.

"Holmes, watch out on your right!" yelled Jane, barely dodging a thrown chair. She saw one of the patrons draw a pistol from his jacket and take aim.

Holmes barrel-rolled under a table and drew his Colt, putting a 230-grain slug into the man's gun-hand. The sound of gunshots spooked the crowd, and the bar emptied in seconds.

"I believe," said Holmes, "that it is time to rethink our tactics, Watson."

"Definitely," said Jane, "my parents think we're here for spring break, and I'm really not looking forward to explaining why I've got so many bruises."

Both of them sat down at the bar. The bartender looked up from his newspaper and said, "You kids sure know how to chase away business."

"What can I say?" said Jane sarcastically, "We like to drink alone."

"Would you be willing to answer a few of the questions that brought us here?" asked Holmes.

"Depends on the questions," said the bartender, feeling for the shotgun he kept beneath the bar.

"We are searching for a man selling Romanian-made AK-47s, rocket-propelled grenades, and Tokarev semi-automatic pistols."

"Interestin'," said the bartender, not looking interested in the least.

"Have you heard anything of this nature?" asked Holmes.

"Could be," said the bartender, "Folks like to talk with their booze. Although, I have a hard time rememberin' what they talk about."

"Perhaps this will improve your memory," said Holmes, throwing a roll of hundred-dollar bills onto the bar.

"I heard there's a guy dealin' heavy out on Manatee Shoal," said the bartender, pocketing the cash, "All Soviet-made junk. The gun bunnies around here like to throw the names around. Makes 'em feel tough."

"How do we know this isn't just bar talk and bull?" said Jane, leaning forward slightly.

"I been pullin' taps in the Keys for thirty years," said the bartender, "My B.S. meter's **real** sensitive. This is righteous."

"Come, Watson," said Holmes, sliding off the stool and hurrying out, "the game is afoot!"

* * *

A day later, Holmes waited outside the Hotel Fiesta for one of the gunrunners to make an appearance. Between a few more well-placed bribes and Jane checking the hotel registries on her computer, Holmes was almost certain he had the right men. Jane was currently sitting in the lobby, waiting for one of them to make an appearance.

"Holmes," said Jane into the small 2-way radio she carried, "one of our guys is coming out into the parking lot."

"Elaborate," replied Holmes.

"The one that looks like somebody put an Armani suit on a gorilla," said Jane, "He's heading toward the parking lot."

The man stepped out of the hotel, looked about and, satisfied that nothing was out of the ordinary, walked leisurely to a blue car across the lot. He opened the trunk and checked to make sure that nothing was out place, when suddenly Holmes sprang upon the man, slamming the trunk down on his arms.

"Whom are you working with?" asked Holmes.

"Go to Hell!" spat the man.

Holmes pressed the trunk door down harder and grabbed the man by the scalp with his other hand. "I have the rest of the day to lean here," said Holmes.

The man struggled for a minute, but finally said, "Callador. His name is Javier Callador."

"Just the two of you?" asked Holmes, pushing down even harder.

"Yes! Just the two of us!" said the man, "There's a lot of money. Plenty to go around. Maybe we can deal."

Holmes reached out his hand and squeezed the man's carotid and jugular, causing him to pass out. He then hefted the man into the trunk of the car and closed it.

Meanwhile, in Callador's room, the gunrunner sat on his bed, going through his business papers.

"Cliff," said the tawny-haired woman sitting at the nearby desk, "When will you be finished with business so we can play?"

Callador smiled and said, "Soon, soon. A few more details, and I am all yours, _Chiquita_."

There was a knock at the door, and Callador instinctively gripped his gun.

"Were you expecting someone?" asked the woman.

"It's probably just the maid," said Callador, "Answer it, babe."

"But I just painted my nails."

"Screw your nails and get the door."

As soon as she began to turn the knob, Holmes leapt into the room, grabbed the woman and fired his taser, landing the barbs in Callador's chest. He shocked Callador until he was fairly certain that he would be unable to resist.

"Sit down," said Holmes to the woman, releasing her.

"Please do not kill me," she said timidly.

"Remain silent, and that will be unnecessary," said Holmes. He hated to be so rough with an innocent bystander, but it was the best way to ensure her cooperation. Holmes scanned the room quickly and, seeing nothing else of any immediate value, gathered up all of Callador's papers. A quick check under the bed revealed a large case filled with more than a hundred thousand American dollars and an American passport made out to Cliff Callador. Holmes folded the papers and put them carefully in his jacket.

"Enjoy the rest of your vacation, ma'am," said Holmes, leaving the hotel room and shutting the door behind him. He made a quick call to the local police to have them arrest Callador, and hurried away to meet Jane.

* * *

**Seattle**

A day later, having examined the papers, Mycroft gave Sherlock and Jane the verdict on them.

"These are end-use papers, invoices, and customs forms," said Mycroft, "Everything you would need to trade firearms internationally. According to these, the weapons in question are a legitimate transaction of Romanian assault weapons to Quadid, an Arabic republic on the Persian Gulf."

"So why is Callador's passport stamped with visas for Puerto Dulce?" asked Jane.

"It would seem that the Quadis are helping him to trade in arms on the black market," said Holmes.

"And let me guess," said Jane, "one of the corporations involved in the deal is a Moriarty front company."

"It would appear so," said Mycroft, typing away at his computer absently.

"What's the story on Puerto Dulce?" asked Jane, "I've never heard of the place."

"It is an independent island republic, off of the coast of Venezuela," said Holmes, checking the encyclopedia, "there is little information beyond its status as a former colony of Portugal and is home to noble families that came over with Cortes."

"So what are they going to do with the guns?" asked Jane, "Redistribute them to the drug trade all over the basin?"

"I fear so," said Mycroft, "and it is imperative that we stop this from happening."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" asked Jane, "We're a small, emphasis on **small**, private detective agency, and Puerto Dulce is an island fortress. They have the largest arms cache in the Caribbean, outside of Guantanamo Bay."

"You and I shall board two separate planes to Puerto Dulce," said Holmes, "You shall be going under the guise of a media heiress from Monte Carlo. Your father is an official of the government, a distant man who nonetheless gives you whatever you ask of him, hence your vacationing in South America unchaperoned."

Holmes handed her a passport with her picture in it. It gave her name as "Mercedes Lefevre," and declared her a citizen of Monaco.

"Ignoring the question of why you a false passport with my picture in it lying around," said Jane, "Who will you be going as?"

"Why," said Holmes with a sardonic grin, "I shall be meeting the head of the Villamos clan as Javier 'Cliff' Callador."

"Holmes, are you crazy?" said Jane, "They'll know you aren't Callador in a minute! Yes, you've got about the same physical build and you can dress yourself like him, but you haven't had a chance to study his personality and mannerisms!"

"This would be a problem," said Holmes, "but the letters we found among his papers indicate that he never met any of them face to face. All of their dealings were done through third parties, anonymous to both sides."

"Then how do you explain why you're down there?" asked Jane.

"My local contact failed to meet me," said Holmes, "And I have another arms transaction in the works in Ukraine, hence my need to complete our business quickly. The only question, Watson, is, are you with me?"

Jane sighed and said, "Okay. I always wanted to visit the Caribbean."

* * *

**Puerto Dulce: Day 1**

Holmes' plane was the first to arrive on the island. Having spent the entire 7 hours of his flight studying his dossier, Holmes was almost certain he'd be able to convince the buyers that he was Callador. He was never more thankful that he could speak fluent Spanish.

Holmes stepped off the plane, and into the tropical sun. It was hot in Puerto Dulce, far hotter than the Keys.

"_¿Hey hombre, usted oye eso?_" asked a Colombian who was standing next to him.

Holmes pricked up his ears. He did indeed hear something, a report that occurred again and again. Then, he realized what it was.

"_¡Fuego automático! ¡Consiga abajo!_" shouted Holmes, diving to the ground. He hit the tarmac just as a truck carrying a gang of army-fatigued men came around the corner, spraying bullets in every direction.

"_¡Viva la Revolución!_" cried the attackers, "_¡Viva Gamos!_"

Holmes silently cursed himself for checking his guns through baggage. All he had was a ballistic knife, and the revolutionaries were coming closer. Then, he spotted it: An M1911 pistol, lying near the hand of a dead security guard.

_Time to contribute to the chaos,_ thought Holmes grimly. He leapt out of his crouched position and jumped at the gun, the recoil of the .45 ACP feeling like a friend's handshake as he fired at the tires of the truck. The truck flipped over, crushing the revolutionaries beneath it.

"_Señor_ Callador!" called a voice in English. Holmes turned to see a man driving a cream-puff Cadillac, "This way! Come with me before the soldiers come to question you!"

Holmes quickly deduced that this man was working for his intended target, as no self-righteous guerilla would dare to drive such a car, and ran to him, sliding across the hood and into an empty seat.

"Where are we going?" asked Holmes, disguising his voice to sound like a roughened thug.

"To see the _Jefe_," said the driver.

Holmes said nothing for the rest of the drive, taking in the sight of the shanty town that was the capital of Puerto Dulce. He remembered stories his brother had told of being in countries at war: the edge in the eyes of the people, the poverty, the heat, it all added up to a powder keg set to blow.

"We are here, _Señor_," said the driver, opening the car door for him.

Holmes gave the mansion a quick but thorough glance as he was lead inside. He estimated it at about 100 acres, and half of it house. Its age confirmed that this was old money and not a run-of-the-mill drug czar. Finally, they stopped in a large sitting room, where Holmes was greeted by a dashing man in a white smoking jacket.

"_Señor_ Callador, so pleasant to meet you in person," said the man, "I am Ernesto Villamos."

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Villamos," said Holmes, "but I would have preferred we dealt in secret."

"I apologize for my assistant," said Villamos, pouring some liquor from a nearby cabinet, "I thought he was trustworthy. Perhaps his love of money outweighed his love for me, no?"

"Or his fear," said Holmes, accepting the glass offered by Villamos.

Villamos laughed and said, "As you say. That is what I like about dealing with Americans. You get to the point. Did I phrase that correctly?"

"I guess," said Holmes, "Now, what about the guns?"

"Ha!" said Villamos, "Just what I admire so much." His voice took on a more authoritative tone. "But we are in MY country now. First we relax, **then** we talk about filthy money and guns. Ramon, show Mr. Callador where he will be staying."

A manservant appeared to show Holmes to his room. As he was about to leave, Villamos called to him.

"Oh, by the way, my sister has been asking about you since we received your fax."

Holmes raised an eyebrow and said, "Sister?"

A sultry voice from the other side of the room said, "Cliff, how good it is to see you again."

Holmes looked and turned pale as a sheet. It was the tawny-haired woman who had been in the real Callador's hotel room!

"And how," she said, slinking her body up against his, "are you enjoying your vacation so far?"

* * *

_Hey hombre, usted oye eso_ - Hey man, you hear that?

_Fuego automático_ - Automatic gunfire!

_Consiga abajo_ - Get down!

_Jefe_ - Boss

* * *

_**(A/N: I know, I don't usually break up a story into chapters, but this one is going to be long, so I might as well. Beside, it'll take MUCH less time to update, this way. Please Review.)**_

TO BE CONTINUED.


	5. Detectives of the Caribbean part 2

_**(A/N: Sorry it's taken me a while; I've been busy. Please Read & Review.)**_

* * *

"Can't say it's been bad," said Holmes, doing his best to appear nonchalant. He was hoping against hope that this woman wouldn't realize that he wasn't the real Callador.

"That is wonderful, my love." She put her arms around his neck. "Kiss me, you big . . ." she trailed off as her lips met his.

Holmes thought he was in the clear, until the woman shoved him back and screamed, "PIG! This is **not** Callador, my brother!"

Villamos' thugs quickly surrounded him, grabbing his arms and removing the gun sticking out of his waistband.

"This is the man who had Callador arrested," said the woman, "but he will die slowly for it, eh? Sorry you let me go, Yankee?" Holmes just glared and spat at her.

"So, who do you think sent him, eh Carmelita?" said Villamos, "The CIA? The DEA? Maybe the American Mafia?"

"Let me find out, _por favor_." Carmelita was practically trembling with sadistic glee. So much so, that neither she nor her brother noticed that Holmes was carefully aiming his arm at the foot of one of the thugs that held him. Then, quickly flicking the trigger at his wrist, he fired his ballistic knife into the thug's foot.

As the guard jumped around, shrieking with pain, Holmes dealt a left hook to the other one's solar plexus and made a mad dash for the window, crashing through the glass and onto the ground. As he was righting himself to make a break for the nearby jungle, a group of what appeared to be hired muscle charged at him.

"Get the _gringo_!" yelled Villamos from the window, "A hundred bolívars to the man who brings him down!"

Normally, Holmes would have no trouble taking on dumb muscle with soccer riots as their only form of combat training, but there were too many of them, and every time he knocked down one, another would take his place. He didn't remember the blow that took him down.

* * *

**Puerto Dulce: Day 2**

Holmes woke to the smell of stale sweat and something sweet. He tried to think of the sort of place that would have a sickly, syrupy stink on the wind, but his head hurt too badly. He did, however, notice that the sun was just beginning to appear over the horizon.

"Everyone up," shouted a guard in Spanish, "Everyone works. Nobody on the sick list today. We have a double workload ahead of us before the rains."

The guard walked over to the cot where Holmes lay and poked him with his truncheon.

"You, _Norteamericano_," said the guard in English, "Get off your skinny _gringo_ butt and **move**."

"Move, or we make you move," said another guard, tapping his hand with his own truncheon.

Holmes did so and fell in line behind another prisoner, whom he asked in Spanish, "What is this place?"

"A sugar plantation owned by the state." The small man turned his head to face Holmes. "You break the law in Puerto Dulce, you cut cane."

They came to the head of the line, where another guard handed them each a razor-sharp machete and two strips of leather.

"You wear the shin guards always," said the little man as he lead Holmes to the field, "The cane is like razors, cut you to pieces."

Holmes nodded and laced the leather across his legs.

"My name is _Comadreja_," said the man, "It is what they call me here. I run the coca on my fishing boat and they send me here for life."

"Call me 'Sigerson,'" said Holmes, "Thank you for your help, _Coma_."

They worked from dawn to dusk, through the hottest part of the day. The sun beat down upon the workers, burning Holmes' pale skin as he hacked through one bundle of sugar cane after another. Having had his watch taken away by the guards, he had only the vaguest idea of the time from the position of the sun. At noon, they were given a meal of cold beans, rice, and dirty water. Escape was impossible, as they were watched constantly and had their shoes taken away.

At the end of the day, Holmes collapsed upon his cot, more tired than he had ever been in his entire life. His feet had already acquired numerous cuts from the cane, and he knew that he'd have to make a break soon, while he could still walk.

* * *

**Puerto Dulce: Day 3**

Jane sat in the small boat she had rented, appearing to be nothing more than a sunbathing tourist whose only worry was what color to paint her nails. On the inside, her stomach was knotted in fear.

"Holmes should've been in touch days ago," she said to herself, "This can't be good."

Fortunately, Holmes had given her a list of Irregulars to call that would be able to help out if either of them ran into trouble. Grabbing her satellite phone, Jane dialed the first number on the list.

_What have you gotten into this time, Holmes?_ thought Jane.

* * *

**Seattle**

The phone rang at the front desk of the Sunset Arms apartment complex, a flophouse down by the Seattle waterfront. The manager answered it with a disgruntled, "What?"

"_I'm looking for a guy named Xavier Delgado. This is the last address I have for him. And make it fast, this is long distance._"

The managed sighed. "Delgado! Anybody seen Delgado? He's got a call over here."

"I'm Delgado," said the large Mexican, approaching the desk.

"I ain't your secretary," the manager said with a snarl, "Don't stay on too long."

"Yeah, yeah," said Delgado, "Delgado, here."

"_Xavier, it's Jane. I need your help. I think Holmes is in trouble."_

"What's going on? Where are you?"

"_I'm not sure what's going on, but Holmes and I are on an island in the Caribbean called Puerto Dulce. You've got the most jungle warfare experience out of all of the Baker Street Irregulars, right?"_

"Yeah, I fought in Vietnam."

"_Good. I've already called Mycroft. There's a plane ticket in your name at the Carib Air counter at Sea-Tac International. Mycroft will meet you and give you a key to a locker containing your passport and a thousand in cash."_

"Where will I meet you?"

"_I'm at the _Marina de Munde_, Bay eight. The boat I'm on is called _The Krake_."_

"I'll be there soon. I just need to stop by my place and grab some ordnance."

* * *

**Puerto Dulce: Day 5**

Holmes was in awful shape, and he knew it. His feet were lacerated to the point where he could barely feel them, a wound on his leg was beginning to turn septic, and he'd picked up some sort of disease from the bugs in the water. The 16-hour days in the tropical sun weren't helping, either. The only relief was a water break every four hours.

_This place is a death sentence,_ thought Holmes as he wearily stood in line for water.

_Comadreja_ was drinking from the ladle, when a large man pushed him aside and said, "You have had enough!"

"Get your hands off me, _Trollo_!" he snapped back at the large man.

The giant raised his machete and said, "You do not speak to me so, little worm!"

"That's enough," said Holmes, grabbing the large man's hand. In truth, Holmes hardly cared at this point if the big idiot killed the little drug runner. But he was thirsty and needed the water, and couldn't take the chance of the guards breaking them up and sending them back to the fields without it.

"I will **kill you**!" snarled the huge man, swinging his machete at Holmes' head. Fortunately, Holmes had not completely lost his agility, and easily dodged the clumsy attack. He then put everything he had into a powerful roundhouse kick, sending the giant falling back onto a patch of recently cut cane. The giant gurgled in his throat, and finally died.

The guards surrounded Holmes and began to beat him with their clubs. Holmes fell to his knees, and then finally collapsed face down, hoping that when he woke, it would be in a place that didn't smell like blood and sugar.

* * *

Delgado walked across the marina, looking for a boat called _The Krake_. Finally, he spotted Jane.

"Thank God you're finally here," said Jane, motioning for him to sit down, "I've been worried sick."

"Sorry it took me longer than I thought," said Delgado, "my flight was delayed. Any news from Holmes?"

"No," said Jane, "And it'd be suicide for me to go into the town alone. I don't speak Spanish, there are revolutionaries everywhere, and the only weapon I have is a bottle of pepper spray."

"Then we'd best get a move on." Delgado rose and motioned for Jane to follow him. "Things are going to get hot down here, and we have to get Holmes and get out before they do."

Meanwhile, at the Villamos villa, Ernesto Villamos watched as the island's oil refineries began to burn.

"The revolutionaries have set fire to the oil refineries," he said to his sister, his voice hard as stone.

Carmelita just shrugged and continued to paint her nails. "We have an army to take care of things like that. Do you like this color?"

"The guerrillas have grown more daring," said Villamos, "They raid inside the capital now and have shut down the power plants three times this month."

"We have our **own** power, _mi hermano_," said Carmelita, "You worry so much. Have a drink and relax."

"'Relax?'" Villamos exited the balcony and closed the doors. "Puerto Dulce no longer receives foreign aid from the United States. How long can our shrinking army keep the guerrillas at bay? We don't want to be here if the troublemakers become the lawmakers here, _Hermana_."

* * *

**Puerto Dulce: Day 6**

"So, you like to fight, eh?" The warden, a great fat man, was standing over Holmes, who'd been placed in a small cage that prevented him from standing, lying down, or even sitting comfortably.

When Holmes did not answer, the warden continued. "Well, I give you a chance to fight, okay? You see, _gringo_, _Señor_ Villamos says that you are a mystery to him. He sent you here to find out who sent you to our island. But you been here about a week, and nobody ask for you. You are a lonely guy, huh? No friends."

Holmes just glared and said nothing.

"Well," said the warden, "You are a wiry _Norteamericano_. I will bet on you in the fights. You win, and **I** will be your friend, eh? You think about it, okay? But don't go nowhere."

The warden walked off with the guards, chuckling at his own joke.

* * *

At the same time, Jane and Xavier sat at an outside table in front of a small café, drinking lemonade.

"Lot of cops and soldiers on the street," said Delgado, "Just like it was in Saigon, back in '75. This place is gonna bust wide open like a piñata. Holmes sure knows how to find trouble."

"Yep," said Jane, "he does have a knack for it. Speaking of which, any luck so far?"

Xavier shook his head. "I've checked everywhere and there's no word that Holmes was killed. This Villamos guy is in pretty tight with the ruling junta."

"His family's been in sugar and tobacco for centuries," said Jane.

"So what could've happened if Holmes isn't dead?" asked Delgado.

"Based off what a cop told me, he'd probably be shipped off to a prison farm. It's the standard punishment out here."

Suddenly, gunshots rang out from the diner, and shabbily clad figures rushed out yelling, "DEATH TO THE WEALTHY PIGS! DEATH TO THE FIVE FAMILIES!"

"Get down!" said Delgado, flipping the table to use it as a shield as the guerrillas ran past them, "It's another bunch of idiots looking to go to workers' paradise in pieces."

"What do you mean?" asked Jane. Delgado indicted one of them with dynamite strapped to his chest as he ran toward a truckload of soldiers.

"FOR FREEDOM!" yelled the revolutionary as he hurled himself under the wheels. The truck exploded, spraying wood, metal, and human remains.

* * *

The fights had begun. Holmes knew that the smart money, if there was any smart money, was not on him. He was exhausted, malnourished, burning with fever, and probably a little concussed. The only armor he'd been given was a few pieces of cloth to wrap around his hands.

"My money is on the _gringo_," said the warden to the other guards, "I like the look from his eye."

The guards all pooled their money into a large pot as they placed their bets on the four fighters.

"Everything here," said the warden, "All my gambling wages from the last six months ride on the Yankee. Fight good for me. Fight to win, _gringo_. The winner goes free."

The other fighters were looking at Holmes like he was a steak dinner, a date with Miss November, and the New York State Lottery all rolled into one. He took a deep breath and prayed that he still had enough left in him to win.

* * *

_**(A/N: Not looking too good for him, is it? Please Review.)**_

TO BE CONTINUED.


	6. Detectives of the Caribbean part 3

_**(A/N: God, I've been busy lately. I've been scrambling about town searching for a job, and even though the economy is improving prospects still aren't looking great. I did however have an interview at a famous local resort as a short-order cook/dishwasher last week, and I'm expecting to know any day now if I got the job, so wish me luck. Please Read & Review.)**_

* * *

Holmes crouched into a boxer's stance and waited. The combatants were to fight on a series of wooden planks over a pit that had dozens of razor-sharp cane stalks sticking out of the ground. A wrong step would mean instant and painful death.

Holmes' first opponent, a fat, hairy man, charged toward him across one of the planks, wild fire in his eyes.

_Your last mistake,_ thought Holmes. A spinning circle-kick took the man in the face, knocking him down to the cane below.

"I told you the _Norteamericano_ had the stones," said the warden to the guards, "He is _muy brutale_. I have wagered well, eh?"

The second fighter, another large man, but this time muscular and bearded, was a little cagier. He moved toward Holmes slowly, apparently intent on finessing him. But his crude boxer's combination never found its target as Holmes dodged the blows and threw a powerful haymaker to the man's gut, finishing with a right cross to the nose that sent him down.

The third fighter, a younger man with a long ponytail, was smart as well as tough.

"I have seen your moves, _gringo_." The man kept a safe distance from Holmes, hopping from board to board whenever he got too close. "You have worn yourself out on the first two."

Holmes didn't reply, but it was true. He was dehydrated, underfed, and his vision was swimming from the fever. And the fight was slowing down, making the guards restless.

"This is tiresome," said the warden, "Put some fight in it! Let us see some blood!" He threw a machete to Holmes' opponent.

"What kind of odds will you give my Yankee, now?" he said to the guards.

"Ten to one!"

"Here is my week's pay that the _gringo_ dies screaming!"

The warden had a lot of faith in Holmes. More than Holmes did in himself, for that matter.

_The only way to win is to change the rules,_ thought Holmes, rubbing sweat from his blackened left eye.

The fighter swung the cane cutter at Holmes, who was barely able to dodge.

"_Adios, amigo_," said _Comadreja_ from the sidelines. There were tears in his eyes.

Just as the fighter hefted the blade to swing again, Holmes did something unexpected: He leapt upward and came down hard on the board, causing it to rock. His opponent, taken off balance, stumbled and fell, managing to grab the side.

"Please, have mercy," he said to Holmes, fear in his voice.

Holmes stood there for a moment, apparently considering the man's plea. Finally, he took a step back . . . and kicked the man in the face, knocking him to his death.

The warden cheered as the other guards grumbled. He'd become a very rich man off of this scrappy _gringo_.

* * *

Back at the capital, Jane and Delgado were comparing notes on what they had learned.

"Lying seems to be the national pastime," said Delgado angrily, "I talked to about six guys who said they could take me to Holmes. Prices ranged from five hundred bucks to ten thousand. They're **all** full of wind."

"Holmes is a prisoner in work camp _sinco_ near Lake Mentira at the center of the island," said Jane.

"Color me impressed," said Delgado, "Where'd you get this?"

"I paid off a cop who gave me Holmes' arrest sheet," said Jane, "Everything's for sale down here."

"Then we gotta move fast," said Delgado, "The revolutionaries have blocked the main highways, blown the rail lines, and are in mortar distance of the airport. When it all comes apart, it's gonna be in a **hurry**."

At the Villamos chateau, Carmelita was busily packing her suitcase when Ernesto marched into her room.

"_Hermana_, I told you to be ready! We must be leaving!"

"But I only have part of my wardrobe packed and some of my shoes," she whined.

"Take only one bag," said Villamos, "The guerrillas are closing in on the capital. I have a plane fueled and waiting at the airport."

"I'll lose all my pretty things to those thieving animals!" Carmelita stamped her foot. "Can't you wait a** little** longer, my brother?"

"We'll buy more when we get to Miami!" he shouted at his sister, "We leave in five minutes!"

"Don't just stand there!" she shouted at her maid, "Get my largest bag and pack it."

"Yes, yes," said the maid, hurrying to obey.

* * *

**Puerto Dulce: Day 7**

Delgado crawled through the underbrush on his stomach, having donned his old BDU to blend into the forest as the sun set.

_This is too much like 'Nam,_ he thought to himself, _You'd __**better**__ appreciate this, Holmes._

He unslung his camouflaged Remington 700, adjusted the sights, and looked through the scope to see if he could find Holmes.

_Okay, the workday should be just about over,_ Delgado thought to himself, _the workers'll be going to their huts right about . . . Bingo._

He spotted Holmes being led by two guards to the hut closest to him. He looked like shit, but he was clearly alive.

Quiet as a mouse, Delgado slipped over the fence, past the guards, and into the hut. He found Holmes sleeping fitfully on a cot near back.

"Holmes," he whispered, gently shaking him.

Holmes stirred slightly, then finally opened his one good eye.

"Delgado?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah," he said, "Jane called me and said you were caught. Let's go."

Holmes shakily got to his feet, but felt a hand on his arm before he could follow Delgado out.

"Can I come with you, _Señor_?" It was _Comadreja_. "_Coma_ can help you escape. Or I could shout for the guards."

Delgado glared at the coke-runner, but Holmes nodded and said, "You can start by being a lookout."

"What shall I look out for?" said _Coma_, sticking his head out the door. Holmes responded by throwing his arm around his neck in a sleeper hold, and dropping _Coma_ when he passed out.

"They will notice my absence," said Holmes as he and Delgado ran for the river, "I was only the only white man in the hut."

"I thought of that," said Delgado, "I wired their motor pool with about five pounds of Semtex inside a fuel drum before coming to get you."

"Is Watson with you?" asked Holmes, "Is she safe?"

"She's fine," said Delgado, "She's waiting with a boat. Let me give the guards a diversion." He took out a remote detonator and pressed the button. Every vehicle in the motor pool went up in flames.

"They will send a helicopter," said Holmes, hurrying as much as he could, "We are not sufficiently armed."

"Jane's got some heavier firepower in the boat." Delgado's words were obscured by the sound of helicopter blades, and a huge spotlight revealed the two figures in the swamp.

"I'll cover you," shouted Delgado, shooting at the tail with his rifle, "the boat's through the reeds on the left!"

Holmes dashed through the reeds and found Jane, sitting in an airboat.

"Watson!" Holmes shouted as he saw her, "I need anti-aircraft ordnance, now!"

"Nice to see you too, Holmes!" she shouted back, "Here, have a party." She tossed him an RPG-7. Holmes took aim with it and shot down the helicopter, creating a fiery explosion.

Jane helped Holmes climb into the boat and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "I've been so worried, Holmes."

"I will survive until we return to civilization." Holmes took a seat in the center of the boat and drank from a bottle of water while Delgado started the engine. "We must hurry, the warden looked upon me as his personal pet, and will not easily suffer to lose me."

There was the sound of automatic gunfire and a squealing sound on the side of the boat. Delgado looked back and saw five boats following them, all of the soldiers armed.

"Don't shoot, _idiotas_!" screamed the warden, "At least, do not shoot the _gringo_!"

"You planned a getaway through this marsh, and you only sabotaged their wheeled vehicles?" Holmes gave Delgado an unmistakable glare.

"I didn't see the boats, Okay?" Delgado unslung his rifle and crouched to a shooting position while Jane took to piloting the boat. "You come four thousand miles to pull a guy's fat out of the fire and he jumps down your throat."

"Are you hitting anything?" yelled Jane as she frantically tried not to smash the boat into a tree.

"No," said Delgado after a while, "It's a three hundred yard shot over water at targets on a moving boat from a non-stationary base. Thornton could make this shot, but I can't."

Holmes snatched up an M4 carbine from the bottom of the boat and, taking careful aim, put a 3-round burst dead center into the warden's chest. The other boats, quickly losing their stomach for the chase, pulled back.

"What are they doing?" asked Delgado.

"He was not popular among his men," said Holmes.

"Well, from here it's clear to the coast," said Jane, "Nothing between us as the sea but some cypress swamp."

"No," said Holmes, "We have a mission to accomplish before we can think of escape."

"Are you out of your mind?" said Delgado, "Holmes, the whole country is going through a civil war! It's too dangerous!"

"We have to capture Villamos," said Holmes, "He can turn state's evidence against his benefactors in Quadid and, by extension, Moriarty."

"I was only in this for the rescue," said Delgado, "My part of this jamboree is over."

"So where do you want me to drop you off?" asked Jane, nonchalantly slowing the boat, "Just pick a corner."

Delgado looked around. Nothing but jungle for miles. So he just sat back down.

"I left a nice, cozy flophouse for this?" he grumbled to himself.

* * *

"It is not fair!" Carmelita's shrill whine pierced the night air as the Villamos' Mercedes pulled into their private airplane hanger.

"What is not fair, Sister?"

"I am allowed only one bag while you bring so many!"

"You think I brought useless personal items?" asked Villamos, glaring at Carmelita, "These cases are filled with American dollars! We will rebuild our lives elsewhere."

This answer satisfied Carmelita. "Let the peons have this pesthole," she said, "I am sick to the gut of it!"

They strolled out to meet their private jet, which had just finished fueling and was ready to go, when a high-pitched noise filled the air.

"MORTAR ATTACK!" yelled Villamos' body, knocking both Ernesto and Carmelita out of the way as the explosives began to come down.

"Get away!" yelled Villamos to his sister, "If they hit the fuel truck – "

He was cut off as a mortar struck the aforementioned truck, causing the plane to disappear in a sea of flames.

"My beautiful jet . . ." said Villamos, staring in horror.

"Well, _mi hermano_," said Carmelita, "Any **more** brilliant ideas on how we shall get to the United States?"

* * *

"Delgado?"

The sailor was shaken from his reverie by Holmes voice.

"Delgado, are you well?"asked Holmes, concern in his voice.

"Yeah," he replied, "It just all seems so familiar. The swamp; the damp; the sweet rotten stink of it all; reminds me of the night I almost drowned in the Mekong, fighting river pirates."

THUMP

The airboat went flying as it rammed into a fallen tree, sending its passengers plunging into the marsh.

"Holmes!" said Jane, rushing over to him, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, Watson," he said. Holmes tried to stand, but fell forward into the muck.

"My God," said Jane, doing her best to get him on his feet, "he's burning up. Delgado! We have to get Holmes to a hospital."

"We got bigger problems," said Delgado, "Get down!" Delgado ran toward them and dragged them behind a tree as a troop of revolutionaries opened fire on them.

"Don't worry, we're out of range," said Delgado, "Vietcong, these guys aren't. They'll take potshots until they're tired and then go back to grumbling about the means of production."

They crouched in the mud for a few hours, but the revolutionaries finally left around noon. Holmes had regained full consciousness, but the cuts on his leg were swollen, and his fever was getting worse.

"Delgado, watch Holmes," said Jane, "I'm going to see if I can find the first aid kit I had back in the boat." The kit, she knew, had some opioids that would reduce the inflammation long enough to get Holmes medical treatment.

"JANE!" called Delgado, "JANE! CLIMB UP THAT TREE!"

"What's wrong?" she said.

"Trouble, and this time they aren't going home," said Delgado, "They **are** home!"

Jane then saw what "they" were: A large bask of crocodiles, sitting on the opposite bank.

* * *

_**(A/N: A group of crocodiles is called either a bask or a float. Yeah, this chapter is a little lackluster, but it'll get better. Please Review.)**_

TO BE CONTINUED.


	7. Detectives of the Caribbean part 4

_**(A/N: The past couple of weeks have been hard as Hell. I gotta say, you don't realize what a monotonous, thankless job it is to deliver newspapers until you start actually doing it for a living. And if that wasn't enough, I only just managed to finally get rid of a virus that's been screwing with my computer for almost a week. Not to mention that my dad and sister are fighting like cats and dogs and it's driving me crazy. Please Read & Review.)**_

* * *

Jane hurriedly searched through the mud looking for the first aid kit.

"Jane, hurry up!" shouted Delgado, hoisting Holmes into a nearby tree.

"I have to get the first aid kit!" she yelled. Finally, she found it; it was covered in slime and muck, but it appeared to be undamaged.

Suddenly, a huge croc reared itself up behind her, intending to strike. Jane screamed as the side of the beast's head exploded, spraying her with gore.

"Watson, this way!" called Holmes, releasing the carbine he'd used to shoot down the crocodile. Jane snapped out of the shock and hurried to the tree where the others sat.

"How many rounds left in that carbine?" Jane asked.

"None," said Holmes.

"I got another clip," said Delgado, "and two more in the automatic. Even batting a thousand, that leaves us with too many crocs left over."

"So we wait," said Holmes, slumping against the tree.

Jane opened the first aid kit and took out a vial of water mixed with quinine powder.

"Lean back and drink this," she said to Holmes, elevating his head to help him drink. Holmes swallowed it, then leaned back and closed his eyes.

"He gonna be okay?" asked Delgado.

"It's too soon to say," said Jane, "after it's had a while to ease his fever and pain, I'll give him a shot of cocaine to get him on his feet."

* * *

"You needed to alert the crew that we were going to take the yacht, _mi hermano_," said Carmela as the Villamos' limo pulled up to their private marina, "the bar is not stocked. The food in the galley will not be fresh!"

"Be quiet!" said Ernesto emphatically, "We do not need luxuries. The guerrillas have cut off every other avenue of escape. We must leave now before they close the port. I will pilot _The Esperanza_ to Miami myself."

But as he spoke, a speedboat skimmed across the waves, and the sound of machine gun fire filled the air as a pack of revolutionaries made their way to the port.

"What now, big brother?" snapped Carmelita as Ernesto and his thugs fired at the oncoming boat.

"They will not cut off our escape again!" shouted Ernesto, "I will **die** before I back down!"

Villamos emptied his revolver at the boat, and finally struck the captain. However, the sudden lack of a pilot caused the boat to spin out of control, heading toward the yacht.

"Every way I turn, I am thwarted," said Ernesto, "We must get off Puerto Dulce or face the mercy of the guerrillas!"

"Where do we turn now, Brother?" said Carmelita, "Our plane is destroyed, the yacht is denied us, and the revolutionaries control every highway!"

"Let me think!" Ernesto's next words were lost as the speedboat struck the yacht, and the explosion knocked them all off of their feet.

"My beautiful yacht," said Villamos with horror, "They will pay."

* * *

Hours later, when night had finally fallen and the crocs drifted into slumber, the detectives carefully made their way out of the tree and back into the swamp. Holmes was now walking and moving normally, the seven percent solution of cocaine having take effect quickly.

"We could wander around this swamp forever and not find a path to the coast," grumbled Delgado, "This whole hiking trip has been one screw-up after another. I'm hungry and thirsty and DAMN tired of wearing wet underwear."

Delgado's foot hit a root, and he fell face first into the murky water.

"Holmes and I are both as sick of this as you are," said Jane, helping him up, "but we could all do without your bellyaching."

Holmes held up a hand for silence as he peered through some reeds. "I believe I have found out salvation." Jane and Delgado looked and saw a pig, trotting through the water at a leisurely pace.

"Whoa," said Jane, "ham dinner."

"This little piggy went 'bang,'" said Delgado, aiming his rifle at the pig.

"No!" hissed Holmes, slapping the barrel down, "Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"What the Hell are you talking about?" asked Delgado.

"Stop thinking with your stomach," said Holmes, "That pig lives in this swamp every day. Perhaps he belongs to a farmer. We can follow it and thus find our way out of this marsh."

Delgado muttered something about food, but had to recognize that Holmes was right. The pig did know its way around, and followed the raised areas that barely got wet. If they weren't getting out of the swamp, at least they were dry.

* * *

Meanwhile, at a small gas station outside the capital, the Villamos' were trying to barter passage to an airfield outside of revolutionary control.

"Very expensive to get out of Puerto Dulce these days, _Amigo_," said the truck driver running the station, "Expensive **and **dangerous."

"You should be willing to help my sister and I out of loyalty and friendship to the Villamos clan, _Viejo_," said Ernesto, shaking with fear and rage.

The truck driver stood up from his seat, stared Villamos directly in the eye, and said, "You and your family looked down on me as a peon, someone who had to get his hands dirty to earn his bread. And now you crawl to me and speak of loyalty?"

Ernesto was so taken aback that fell backward into the chair behind him.

"Now, you must **buy** my loyalty. A hundred thousand in cash. And the keys to your limousine."

"But – " Ernesto tried to object, but the driver cut him off.

"Is that so much to ask in exchange for your lives?" He leered at Carmelita. "When I could ask for so much more?"

"Pig!" snapped Carmelita, crossing her arms.

"And how," said the driver, lighting a cigar, "do you think you will fare when the guerrillas are in power? Not so good, eh?"

* * *

_Well,_ thought Jane, _so much for that plan._

The trio had been following the pig all day and into the night. It had meandered, backtracked, and stopped to eat fruit that had fallen from the trees. Everything, it seemed, but lead them out.

"Do you guys smell that?" said Delgado.

Jane and Holmes both sniffed the air. There was a new smell mixed in with the stink of swamp-water: Woodsmoke. Then, they saw the source; a fire, surrounded by men speaking softly in Spanish. Members of the _Guarda Nacional_, having a midnight picnic.

"What do we do?" asked Jane quietly.

"They've got water, hot food, guns, and a truck," said Delgado, "Should I draw you a picture?"

"Wait," said Holmes, "We must think this through. Villamos is, in all likelihood, sitting by a pool in Cancun by now. Our chance to bring him to justice has passed. Thus, there is no further need for us to remain on the island. Perhaps if we simply speak to these gentlemen, we can find a way to do that."

Delgado nodded and, raising his gun, stepped into the clearing and said in Spanish, "Nobody moves, nobody dies." All the soldiers raised their hands.

"Anyone here speak English?" asked Jane, aiming her revolver.

"I speak pretty good," said one of the soldiers.

"Where are you going?" asked Holmes.

"A fire road through the lumber plantations," said the soldier, "The rebels don't know to cut it off. It leads North to where a _gringo _has a private airfield. He is flying people out for ten thousand dollars a head."

"You don't look like you carry that kind of dinero," said Delgado.

"We have our guns," said another soldier. He raised a knife and aimed to throw it at Holmes, but Delgado emptied a burst into his chest. The other soldiers quickly gave up their keys and supplies.

"Let's haul," said Delgado, ushering the others in the truck, "We can make some miles before dawn."

* * *

"What is your name, _Viejo_? And what do you carry?"

"Manuel Lopez," replied the driver, "I carry food looted from the government warehouses. I am taking it to the poor villagers crushed by oppression all these decades."

"He does not lie," said a rebel to the superior, "there is food here."

"Get him out of the truck," said the officer, "We will distribute the food to the masses."

Manuel jumped out of the truck and angrily said to the officer, "I act under the orders of _El Commandante Uno,_ the leader of the glorious revolt! If you wish to countermand these orders, then that is your right. But don't blame me if you are called before the People's Justice Committee!"

The officer signaled the rebel soldiers to back down and said, "Very well. You may pass."

Manuel wiped the sweat from his brow and drove his truck further down the road.

"You actually earned your obscene payment with that performance," said Villamos, coming out from under a crate in the back.

"How much longer will this be, _Hermano_?" whined Carmelita.

"All night," said Manuel, "and most of tomorrow before we reach Rancho Florida."

* * *

On the other side of Puerto Dulce, at the Rancho Florida airfield, another business deal was being made.

"So, where is the plane, Señor Carson?" Jorge Gacho and his family were eager to leave, while Carson, the owner and pilot, seemed bound and determined to make them wait.

"Well," said Carson, puffing on a cigar, "There's been a change in plans, Mr. Gacho."

"A change in plans?" said Gacho, "I have paid you a fortune to fly me and my family to Honduras. I will not stand for a change in plans!"

"See, there IS no plane, Gacho," said Carson, "You wanna fly to the mainland, you're gonna have to grow wings. I might be able to help you there."

Carson drew his pistol and shot Gacho in the chest, following with a bullet to each member of his family.

"Ask the Big Man upstairs for a pair when you see him."

"What do you want done with the bodies, Señor Carson?" asked one of his thugs.

"Put the Gachos in 'first class' with the others," said Carson, "and make it quick. With the rebels taking the capital I figure we got other paying customers coming."

* * *

_**(A/N: I swear, it will not take me this long to update again. If you're still reading, God bless you. Please Review.)**_

TO BE CONTINUED.


End file.
